


Into the Dark

by CatLadyInTraining



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dark Character, Dark Fantasy, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Lemon, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Smut, Strong Female Characters, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 14:23:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20875670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatLadyInTraining/pseuds/CatLadyInTraining
Summary: DERRY, MAINE 	was meant to stay a forgotten memory, but Kyla Hagarty is mistakenly wrong when her brother calls one dead night: screaming, weeping, and terrified beyond belief. Kyla has no choice but to leave her quiet life in Seattle and return to her childhood home where she must face It. But in doing so, Kyla must part ways from her normal reality, to her frightening past.





	Into the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BhadBitchBrenda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BhadBitchBrenda/gifts).

**THE STORY, AS FAR AS ANYONE COULD TELL, DIDN’T TRULY BEGIN until September 4TH, 2016, just after the time read two twenty-three in the morning.**

The phone call was rather short, as strange as it sounded. A mere thirty seconds of heartbreaking sobs and incoherent noises through quivering lips. There were others with the young man it seemed, for the call featured two, or three, other voices tying desperately to calm the man down enough to speak a few simple words. But no matter how many times they repeated just to breathe, he still lapped through his words with a muddied voice. Then, the phone call simply ended, with no need to reply it seemed.

The receiver of the call was a twenty-three-year-old woman dubbed by the name Kyla Hagarty. She had been lying in bed, half-asleep and brooding over her latest television show when she received the call in her small studio apartment in Seattle, Washington, just after a rather big rainstorm had hit. Her windows were still slick with lines and puddles, and the cars outside were breezing through swollen gutters and flooded parking lots. A small leak had dripped onto Kyla’s floor, and she could still see the crack in her ceiling damp and ready to pour out some more.

_Plink_. The small droplet fell on her wooden floor.

That’s all she could remember of that first night. She still remembered the large crack on her ceiling, spilling onto her floors and pooling itself into the small carpet near the puddle. Just the soft _plink _of freshwater and it would come to her knowledge later that the man on the phone was also hearing the same noise, inside a police station, surrounded by small-minded cops. All he would hear would be the _plink_ of a droplet falling in an already overfilled bucket. Who would have imagined she’d be seeing, and hearing, the same things as the man who had called?

Kyla checked her phone records, and no doubt, it had been her brother calling in the dead of night. Don Hagarty. How strange. She hadn’t even thought of him in years, now suddenly, she remembered, it seemed to all be coming back to her. Yes, she had a brother, an older one. A tall, good-looking middle-aged man who had become a writer despite his mother’s best interests, and had dated a fellow man, again, against his mother’s best interests. He still lived in Maine.

Ah, yes. Derry, Maine!

Her palms grew sweaty, and she felt a lump grow in her throat as that word came to cross her mind. Derry. How long had it been since she had heard of that forgotten desolate small town? Three, five years? She couldn’t even place why she hadn’t remembered. Her entire childhood was taken place there for Pete’s sake! Fifteen years, from birth to high school, she had lived in a small house on Wicker Street a mile past the Kissing Bridge. Her home was yellow, a sunflower yellow with tulips and daisies and small roses that grew around the home. The fence was belittled with small arrow holes from where Kyla had shot homemade targets, there was always paint splattered on the grass, and crayons and small plastic toys became melted into the trees through the cracked boards of their treehouse.

So why was she terrified suddenly? Why was adrenaline pumping through her veins so rapidly they begged her to run?

**KYLA’S REPORT #1**

Below is Kyla Haggarty’s written reports, journal entries, photos, and any other evidential material the DERRY POLICE DEPARTMENT has found prior to her disappearance late last year. Everything in this file is to be kept confidential and only viewed by official investigators of the DERRY POLICE DEPARTMENT.

September 4th, 2016.

It’s three am.

I usually don’t stay up this late, but now I can’t fall back asleep. Don’s call did something to me. Like it sparked this tornado in my head that’s spinning my thoughts in an endless mess. I don’t even know where to begin.

I’m thinking of taking the first plane to Maine if I can. Don’s words scared me something good.

_Please, Kyla. I don’t—Adrian’s dead. I need someone. Mom—she won’t listen._

Adrian? Was that Don’s boyfriend? I can’t remember the last time I met any of his boyfriends. He never really told me anything, hell, I completely forgot he even existed for quite some time. At least, until he called. It was like his voice just opened this box, pandora’s box of memories and childhood shit that I kept locked away for a reason.

One of my professors once said sometimes people forget things if something was traumatic, and I don’t want to know if Derry was traumatic or not. I’m not planning on trying to uncover my own life if I do actually head there. I’ll just see Don, get him the hell out of there, and we both can continue living as we did before.

I can’t believe I actually want to go back.

Derry.

That shithole.

I guess that’s my only choice. I doubt Don would leave on his own.

I’ll just ask him what I need to know when I get there I guess.

**THIS REPORT WAS FOUND BY OFFICER ANGELA JOHNSON OF SEATTLE POLICE EAST PRECINCT #C3. **

CALL HER OR THE STATION AT 1-206-333-6789, OR 1-564-985-6625.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA. Please don't call those numbers. I made them up, or at least I hope I did. I don't want anyone getting a phone call just because I used real area codes and whatnot. 
> 
> Also, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter! It's short but it's technically a prologue, so just expect much longer chapters (trying to shoot for over 3,000-7,000 words) in the future.
> 
> I'm reading IT as I'm writing this and I want to mimic Stephan King's writing a bit to see if I can make it "realistic" or whatever like he did. So I'm experimenting right now and I don't know if I like it or not.
> 
> Do you guys enjoy the writing? 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you just enjoyed this chapter, and hopefully this book as I continue, since I will most likely be going to hell after writing this book lmao.


End file.
